


The Lonely Choices of a Strange Season

by coffeehigh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Minor Original Character(s), My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents, Unspeakables
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4877371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeehigh/pseuds/coffeehigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the first war, an order member is called to live a double life & she realizes just how much she has to sacrifice to be able to fight the good fight.  On one hand, she has to denounce everything she believes in.  On the other, she tries to cope with the hostility & mistrust of her contact, Sirius Black, her only connection to the light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reminisces 1: The Art of Losing

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on the books and characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic and Warner Brothers. No money is being made from this. No infringement on copyright is intended.
> 
> AN: My first fanfic... and it does show. I'm really my worst critic and on rereading parts of it recently, I kind of want to rewrite the whole thing, edit it better and tighten up the plot. Also, it has Mary sue-ish properties. Sadly, I've never been able to complete it since I've moved on to original writing. However, I've decided to post this behemoth of a fic here as a way of conservation since I've recently been able to salvage some of my old fanfics from the hard drive of my old computer which conked out a year ago. Hopefully, some of you might enjoy the story.
> 
> By the way, why this pairing? Because when Moody shows the old order photo to Harry in book 5, Sirius and Dorcas are next to each other, which probably means nothing at all, but where's the fun in that.

Moody to Harry in OotP:

 _“... That’s Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally..._ ”

 

             His memories were coming back to him, at the oddest moments, these things that he thought he had lost forever. He had spent his twelve years in Azkaban not thinking about them, since his mind at the time alternated between thoughts of his innocence and memories of his bitter childhood.  Finally outside of the dementors’ influence, they were returning to him in flashes that take him by surprise and leave him breathless with their vividness.

           

_James looking ludicrous bedecked with tinsel since Lily had insisted that they decorate their first Christmas tree as a married couple without magic.  Remus sitting a corner of Godric Hollow and sneaking magical ornaments on the tree behind Lily’s back.  He being less discreet about it and charming the glass balls to sing and twinkle in time, in front of Lily.  She had given him a good scolding, then ruined it by laughing.  And Peter..._

Sirius stopped thinking.

            That particular memory came the night he passed through Magnolia Crescent, triggered by the memory of seeing Harry for the first time.  He had thought that once the good memories came back to him, he’d be all right.  He didn’t expect the good ones to be far worse than the bad ones.  He was constantly blind sided by thoughts of what he had and lost....

             He shook his head as if the physical act could eliminate from his head that particular memory and transfigured back into Padfoot, hoping to drown out all of these recollections with mindless action.  He actually thought he was succeeding until he entered Privet Drive and saw a few laughing children, pulling pranks on each other.

 

_It was a few days past the full moon, and the Marauders decided to cheer Remus up.  He had come up with an insanely risky (it was upon retrospect) but highly entertaining (it made them laugh, years afterwards) prank.   He had suggested casting a duplication spell on Peeves, which would create a shallow, fake copy of the poltergeist, retaining only one aspect of its personality.  But in Peeves case, since he only had one side to his personality, the spell churned-out an annoying-prankster-Peeves.  Each copy made would divide and create another copy after five seconds.  And each copy would disappear after three minutes of its first appearance._

_He and James had cast the spell first thing in the morning, and by the start of first period, there were over a hundred Peeves zooming down corridors throwing dungbombs or flying through blackboards into classrooms or even pulling up some of the older girl’s robes._

_Remus, being prefect then, tried- and failed miserably- to look stern when they explained to him that they did the prank as an investment into his happiness._

 

            The memory came swiftly, quite unexpectedly and had left him hunched over in a darkened yard of one of the matching houses of Privet Drive, catching his breath and gnashing his teeth.He wondered if this was one of the things- his apparent unconcern for a lot of other people when he was younger- that had made Remus think he was a mass murderer.

            They had glibly apologized and forgiven each other, that night in the Shrieking Shack, but it was painful still, for both of them.  To realize that the machinations of a small, untalented coward had been enough to tear their friendship apart was, at times, even more painful than having thought the other as the traitor.

            He wondered what Remus was doing now.  He hasn’t talked to him in awhile.  Not since that time in the Shrieking Shack, almost two years ago and the occasional vague letter he could owl to him.

            After being released from Azkaban and rescued by Harry and Hermione, Sirius had left England for awhile, partly to save his neck but also to lure the search party there.  He was hoping that would clear England of Aurors looking for him so that when he returned to the country, he could keep a closer and unencumbered watch on Harry. 

            After the incident in the maze and the death of the Diggory boy, Dumbledore had instructed him to get the old crowd then lay low at Lupin’s.  He had decided to start that task by going to Arabella Figg’s house first.  Arabella, being a squib, was one of the people whom he could talk to without fear of her hexing him first.

            Once he recovered from the memory, he headed straight to Arabella’s.  Apparently, Sirius needn’t worry at all about being hexed, since Dumbledore sent Fawkes ahead of him with a note explaining his predicament.Arabella had welcomed him right in and had told him to be comfortable.  He tried to look for a place to sit that wasn’t covered with cat hair, then stopped.  It wasn’t as if he was in the cleanest state himself. 

            Arabella had asked him for a first hand account of what happened with Pettigrew.  Sirius had become so accustomed to the telling, that he recited it mechanically.

            “Oh, you poor thing.”  Arabella said, plying his hands with tea, cauldron cakes and a leather bound book.  “Why don’t you take a look at this, and remember the good times.”

            The book turned out to be an album.  He stared at photograph after photograph of happy wizards and witches waving up at him.  Most of them were dead.  He wondered what Arabella was thinking when she handed him this.

            He saw a photograph with most of the members of the order.  He poked a few of the people in the front, asking them to move around a bit, until the people at the back of the photograph showed themselves. 

            Then he saw himself.  And her.  All long black hair and hazel eyes and shy smile.  _Cassie._

Every sense was filled with her memory.

           

            _The sound of her laughter._

            _The feel of her hand clasped in his._

            _The scent of her perfume._

_The taste of her lips._

_The weight of words that were never said._

            “The old order picture.”  Arabella said, interrupting his thoughts.  She looked at the photograph over his shoulder then sat opposite him.  “Moody has been asking me for that one.”

            He ran a finger down her photographic cheek, returned the picture in its place and went back to business.

            After informing Arabella of the revival of the Order, she told him that she would talk to Mundungus herself.  Being a wizard, Mundungus would be able to find a way to keep in touch with Sirius for Arabella.

 


	2. Chapter 1

            The floor made impact with her body.  Again.  Most people would say that it’s the other way around, but for Dorcas Meadowes, a different perspective was the only thing keeping her sane.  Whereas sparing with one of the greatest duel champions in the wizarding world would usually be called suicide, she preferred to see it as chapter in personal development.  Besides it's part of her job.

            “Cassie, keep this up and you’ll end up dead.”  Benjy Fenwick said in a cheerful voice, his hands dangling nimbly at his side.  He hasn’t even broken a sweat yet.

            “Since you’re sounding so hopeful, why don’t you just do it and save me the trouble of enduring this torture.”  Dorcas muttered.  She was rewarded by a hearty laugh.

            “That’s the spirit.”  Benjy said and offered her a hand.  She ignored it and pushed herself up off the floor.

            For the last month, she had spent two days of her workweek learning how to cast spells using a wand strapped to her forearm.  Hexes and curses were simple enough, since most of their power come from the correct utterances.  Charms were another matter as these often require the correct swish, flick or jab.  The levitation spell, for instance, requires dramatic hand maneuvers while a correctly executed banishing spell needs snappy wrist movements.

            Benjy had been teaching her alternative movements to produce the same effects as these spells, and just when she thought she was getting the hang of things, she fails to cast something as simple as a summoning spell.

            During their mock duel, Benjy had banished every single heavy object in the room towards her.  Several heavy tomes flew in her direction.  She had tried summoning a pillow to use as a shield.  And failed miserably.

            “The spell originally needs a strong flexion of the wrist and a slight turning of the forearm.  What you need to do is bend your elbow a little bit more.” He demonstrated the movement. 

            Dorcas imitated the movement and said, “ _accio pillow_.”  The pillow gave an unenthusiastic jiggle but remained where it was.

            “You’re not bending your elbows enough.”  He stood behind her and guided her through the movements.  Once he was satisfied, he had her repeat the spell.  To Dorcas surprise, the pillow flew straight into her outstretched hand.

            “Fantastic.  Now let’s practice the blocking charm.”  Benjy said enthusiastically.

            Dorcas suppressed the urge to groan.  It was going to be a long workday.

            They continued up to the end of the day until it was time for Dorcas to report to her boss, Madame Althea Tutela.

 ***

             In the Department of Mysteries lies the Incolumitas Division, a division so secret that its existence is known only to the people working in the division, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Minister of Magic.  The head of this Division is a stern witch named Madame Althea Tutela.

            Dorcas Meadowes was recruited straight out of Hogwarts to join the Division, nearly two years ago; since that time, her job involved gathering information on people and events that could pose a threat on Wizarding security. 

            It is quite similar to the job of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and the Auror Division.  However, while the Magical Law Enforcers and the Aurors investigates and apprehends _known_ offenders and dark wizards, the Incolumitas Division deals with _possible_ security threats- people who would usually be above suspicion.  The members of the Division are supposed to spot trouble even before one could call it that.

            If the public were to know that such a Division existed, it would cause a furor over its ethics.  The Division operates on the sole premise that everybody _could be_ guilty until proven innocent.

            Because of the nature of the Division’s purpose, recognition and professional advancement were certainly out of the question, yet the only thing Dorcas regretted in accepting the position was that secret divisions tended to set up camp in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, instead of the less stuffy and easier to access upper levels.

            She navigated without magic a labyrinth like set of corridors before she reached the door that she wanted.

            The entrance to Madame Tutela’s office was an unmarked wooden door painted an unappealing shade of dark brown.  She took out her wand and tapped the door in select places, then stood back.  A soft hissing sound accompanied the release of smoke, and the door opened with a soft _woosh_. 

            The room inside was square and around the size of a closet, its walls were made of light gray stone that blended into more light gray stone.  Dorcas entered and shut the door behind her.  The unremarkable, featureless room had only one purpose.  It was one of the two rooms in the entire Department of Mysteries where a witch or wizard could apparate to and disapparate from.  And the only people who knew about the room were the members of Incolumitas Division.

            Apparition wasn’t allowed in certain areas of the Ministry and the Department of Mysteries was one of those areas.  A number of studies on unusual and unexplainable kinds of magic were being conducted in the Department, and the magic involved in apparition usually skews these experiments.

            However, a wizard cannot disapparate from this room to go anywhere.  One can only go to the office of the head of the Incolumitas Division, the coordinates of which are known only by the Division members. 

            With a crack, Dorcas was gone from that room and in Tutela’s office.

            “Meadowes.”  Tutela greeted, looking quite comfortable in an office without any doors or windows.  How she could survive that, Dorcas had no idea.  At least the ceiling was charmed to look like one was under a canopy of branches.  Today, the branches held leaves of gold and red, autumn in the middle of spring.

            There were no chairs in Tutela’s office, aside from the one she was sitting on, so Dorcas stood in front of the desk, keeping her hands inside the pocket of her robes.

            Being a person who believed that social niceties and business don’t mix, Althea Tutela went right to the point.  “Your report on the Lestrange brothers was rather alarming.” 

            There were number of wizards and witches that were known supporters of pureblood rights whose movements were monitored by the Division and the Lestrange brothers and Crabbe were under Dorcas’ watch.

            “They have been spending a considerable amount of their energies on something I cannot determine.  They’ve been meeting up with a number of people on our list, spending more time than necessary if they were only planning the usual press statements or rallies or even their vandalism.”  Dorcas said. 

            “I agree, Meadowes.  This is something outside of their usual rabble rousing.  Particularly when taken together with Fulmingham’s report on Nott, Rossier and Goyle and with Carson’s report on the Black cousins and so on.”  Tutela leaned back in her chair and looked at Dorcas. 

            “You remember what we discussed a month ago?” 

            Dorcas felt like squirming under her gaze.  
            “Yes, ma’am.”

            “Good.” Tutela said and moved forward in her chair to hand Dorcas a scroll.  Dorcas took the scroll and noted the faint greenish glow it emitted. 

            She opened the scroll and read its contents.  When she was finished, the scroll snapped back into its tight roll then burst into flames. 

            Dorcas gave a nod and left.

* * *

            It was slightly past supper when Dorcas popped into Hogsmede. 

            After the meeting with Madame Tutela, she finished her other reports, navigated out of the twisting corridors of the Department of Mysteries, exited through a side door reserved for unspeakables and went to one of the Approved Unspeakable Disapparating Sites.

            The alley behind the Three Broomsticks was the unofficial apparating venue and was used by most of the witches and wizards going to Hogsmede, which was why Dorcas decided to apparate by the Shrieking Shack.

            It would be a longer walk to Hogwarts from that place, but trying to avoid being noticed was a part of her life and there weren’t a lot of other locations as options.  She could try one of the caves by the hills, but that would be impractical and too paranoid for her liking. 

            She cast a few appearance charms on herself, changing her long black hair into a curly, light brown and her hazel eyes to green.  She added a few wrinkles around her eyes and conjured up a pair of glasses which she perched low on her nose.  It would pass a cursory inspection but she would still be recognized by somebody who knew well enough.  She turned up her collar to further hide her face from view and started for Hogwarts in a brisk pace.

            It has only been two years since she left Hogwarts, but it seemed a lifetime ago.  It wasn’t as if her life in Hogwarts was a far stretch from the one she was living now.  The need for secrecy and subtlety was just as necessary then.  She had been in Slytherin.  In fact, that was one of the reasons why she was chosen for this job. 

            The castle loomed on the horizon, slowly growing in size as she approached.  The closer she got to Hogwarts, the more she got lost in her thoughts.

  ***

            It was a week before the end of classes when she received the note from Dumbledore.  It had said:

_Dear Ms. D. Meadowes,_

_If you would please report to my office immediately, there is a matter that concerns your presence.  Thank you._

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 

            When the seventh year Dorcas entered the Headmaster’s office, she found that he wasn’t alone.  Sitting across from him and sipping tea was a tall and very thin woman with her hair wrapped up in a black velvet turban.  She had a long face, an imposing beak like nose and eyes that were such a light shade of blue that one had the disconcerting impression of seeing only the witch’s tiny pinpricks of pupils. 

            The woman turned around upon her entrance and did not say anything.  Merely looked at her from head to toe.  Dumbledore had excused himself from the room and exited to an adjoining room.  Once the door that Dumbledore exited clicked shut, the woman moved around the headmaster’s desk and settled herself behind it.

            “Ms. Meadowes,” the woman had begun without preamble, “I have taken the liberty of studying the application you sent in to the Auror Training Program.  I have also conversed with the Headmaster and various professors regarding your aptitude for the position.  I am quite impressed with what they had to say about you.  I am, however, wondering why you decided to be an Auror.  It seems quite a waste of your talents.  During the last war, dark wizards abound.  But during times of peace, Aurors do not have that much to do.”

            Dorcas, who had not been offered a chair, remained standing in front of the woman while answering.  “Not all of Grindewald’s supporters were caught, ma’am.”  She felt as though she was answering an oral exam. 

            It was like taking the N.E.W.T.s again.  _Memory modification involves isolation and selection..._

            “Yes, but they are far and few in between.  And finding them is difficult.  Why not be a Healer instead.  Your N.E.W.T.s are certainly up to scratch.”  The woman replied.

            “There is some degree of political unrest, ma’am.  A lot of rallies are being held on issues of equality among pure and half blood wizards.  Also, there are a lot of discussions going on about whether other sentient non-humans have the same rights as humans.  A lot of people aren’t agreeing with each other.  And it’s probably going to get worse before it’s going to get any better.  People _will be_ needed in the Ministry to see to injustices done.”

            Dorcas watched the woman for a reaction; she didn’t get any.

            Finally, the woman nodded and said, “I was told that your house is Slytherin.  You do not sound like you are in favor of the supremacy of the pure blooded wizard.  That is hardly a characteristic of a Slytherin.”

            Dorcas carefully worded her reply.  “There are a lot of reasons to be sorted in Slytherin.”

            The woman's mouth twitched slightly but briefly.  Then the reaction was gone, followed by a blank expression.  “Yes, there is cunning, ambition, slyness and subtlety.”  Then giving her a sharp look, she continued.  “Ms. Meadowes, if I offered you a different position in the Ministry, not as an Auror, but something else, something along the same lines, would you accept?”

            Dorcas tried to get clues from woman’s reaction but her face remained bland, almost unconcerned.  She took a sip of her tea, observing Dorcas above the rim of her cup       

            “Could I find out more about this position?”  Dorcas finally replied. 

            “You have been told all that you need to know.”

            She felt uncomfortable in accepting such a vague offer.  If being in Slytherin taught her anything, it was to be cautious.  However, Dumbledore would not have welcomed this woman here if he wasn’t sure her offer was in Dorcas’ best interest.  And she was very curious.

            She looked towards the door that Dumbledore disappeared to.  Perhaps, she was hoping for some form of guidance from that direction.  To her surprise, Dumbledore was back in the room.  How long he had been standing there, watching quietly their discussion, she did not know.  Unfortunately, his expression was just as inscrutable as the woman’s was.

            Then very faintly, (she thought she imagined it) Dumbledore gave a nod and a small smile.

            Summoning her courage, Dorcas faced the woman.  “I accept.”

            “Very well, you have to sign this.”

            A scroll that was emitting a faintly green light was thrust in her hands.  The moment Dorcas touched it, the scroll sprang open.  Inside, was a short message.

 

_I, Dorcas J. Meadowes, accept the position of Unspeakable in the Incolumitas Division of the Department of Mysteries._

 

            Dorcas signed her name on the blank at the bottom of the page.  The scroll glowed brighter, then the writing vanished.  In its place, a different message appeared.

           

_Welcome, Dorcas J. Meadowes, to the Incolumitas Division of the Department of Mysteries._

_You are now part of a proud tradition spanning hundreds of years, almost to the very beginning of Wizarding society.  As the name implies, our Division is concerned with the safety of Wizarding society as a whole.  Although we work under the Ministry, we are largely independent in our governance._

_Our existence is thought of as rumor and readily dismissed as such.  Secrecy is our most powerful ally._

 

            And just as suddenly, that message vanished as well.  To Dorcas surprise, the paper burst into flames in her hands without burning her.  There was nothing left of the scroll, not even ashes.

           “Secrecy is our most powerful ally.”  The woman echoed what was written on the parchment.  “As old as this organization is, it is hardly ever mentioned.  A concentrated study of some of the older history books would reveal a footnote or a small reference to a secret division in the Ministry, but the Incolumitas Division is never named.”

            “That is because of the nature of our duties.  There are no outlined list of them for the unspeakables of the Incolumitas Division.  There are no official guidebooks stating the scope of the Division’s tasks.  But in a word, we are watchers.  We observe and monitor people and events that could cause potential destruction of our society.  And when we have enough information, we tip our hands into the appropriate departments of the ministry.”  The woman explained.

            Once that was finished, the woman stood up and offered her hand to Dorcas.

            “Dorcas Meadowes, I am very happy you accepted.  I am Althea Tutela”

 ***

             Dorcas tried to clear her head of the memories.  She had reached the Hogwarts’ gates, which were unlocked, and entered the school.  She knew that as long as Dumbledore was headmaster, they never would be.  He insisted on keeping the gates and the Main Door unlocked, especially during times of unrest, believing that it is during these times that Hogwarts would best serve as a refuge for the needy.

            It may seem like an unwise decision.  But everybody knew that more than locks that protected Hogwarts and that more than breaking through them would be needed to invade the place.  And people who keep their doors unlocked usually have other means of finding out who entered and exited their homes.

            She wondered if there would be a time when she’d find the gates barred.  She shivered at the thought.

            She navigated through the corridors of the school easily, choosing the ones that were hardly used by the students, taking the most discreet way to the Headmaster's office. 

            “Cockroach Clusters” she said to the gargoyle guarding the door, who muttered about the lateness of the hour and other indecipherable unpleasantness before shuffling aside.

            “Dorcas,” Dumbledore said and waited for a moment while she removed all of her appearance charms.

            “Professor Dumbledore, I’m sorry I came without prior notice.”

            “Nonsense, Dorcas.  When one gives away their password, one expects visits like this.  Please, have a seat.  Make yourself comfortable.”  Dumbledore waved his wand.  An overstuffed chintz armchair replaced the usual straight-back chairs reserved for students called in for infractions.  With another wave of the wand, a tray of sandwiches and pumpkin juice were conjured up.

            Dorcas hesitated for a moment then picked up a glass and took a sip.  She didn’t touch the sandwiches.  The gravity of what was happening has stolen her appetite, but has left her throat dry.

            “Professor, Madame Tutela talked to me this afternoon.”  Dorcas began, not really certain what to say.  “She thinks, well, we both think that it’s finally happening.  The key players are moving around a lot, meeting with each other often, more often than before.  And Voldemort, he has been laying low lately.  He isn’t appearing in any of the rallies.  He isn’t giving any statements.  It’s mostly Bellatrix Black who’s talking, now.” 

            Dumbledore gave a brief nod.  For a moment, Dorcas thought that he looked tired.  “I suspected as much, Dorcas, given what you have reported to me during the last month or so.”

            “Sir, she’s asked me to do what we have been talking about before.  Now is the time for it.”  Dorcas looked at him somberly.  “I said yes.”

            “It is a hard thing, what she, and I for that matter, am asking you to do.  Neither of us would think any less of you if you say no.”  Dumbledore said kindly.

            “I’ve already said yes, professor.  And my connection with Slytherin and these people was one of the reasons I recruited.  What’s the point of my being in the Division if I didn’t do it.”  Dorcas bit her lip and gazed at her hands. 

            “But something is troubling you, child.”

            “I’m just.... I don’t know, sir.... afraid.”  Then more wryly, she added.  “I guess that’s why I wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor.”

            Fawkes, which had been perched on the backrest of Dumbledore’s chair, flew towards Dorcas and settled on her shoulder.  The bird hummed a simple tune, and she felt as if a weight lessened from her shoulders.

            “Courage is not the absence of fear, but the determination to continue despite it.”  Dumbledore said.  “But if you are to act as spy, you will have to denounce your allegiance with me and this school.  There will also be a parting of ways between you and your friends.  This will have to be done in public, to make it more believable.  It will give you some protection.  This will also put your sister in some amount of danger.  But we will take precautions to keep her outside of the wizarding world.”  Dumbledore fixed her with a piercing stare.  “Are you ready?  Are you prepared for this Dorcas.”

            Dorcas opened her mouth but felt the answer die on her lips.  She nodded instead.  _A parting of ways between you and your friends.  In public._   _This will also put your sister in some amount of danger._ Starting tomorrow, she would have a new life.  One that involves hexing muggle-borns when she passes them in Diagon Alley or vandalizing the homes of muggle lovers, like what Bellatrix Black does.  Or, if their suspicions were correct, worse things than vandalism and rudeness, things that are frightening to contemplate on at this time.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we see Dorcas's motivations for accepting such a perilous job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter with a long one to follow. Oh, before I forget, the title of the first chapter came from the poem One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

            Dorcas gazed up and down the corridor listening for footsteps, then knocked rapidly on the door of apartment forty-two.  She heard a shuffling on the other side, a brief pause, followed by the sound of bolts being slid and locks being turned.

            “Sis!” The woman who answered the door greeted her enthusiastically.

            Dorcas stepped inside quickly.  She enveloped her twin in a long embrace and stepped back to study her appearance.  Her sister had the same black hair, but unlike Dorcas’ long, fine, straight locks, Darcy kept hers close cropped and spiky, dyeing the tips red.

            “I like the hair Darcy.  Suits you.”  Dorcas said, giving her a big grin.

            The Meadowes twins were fraternal, but back when they were younger and inseparable (and when Darcy sported the same hairstyle as Dorcas), one could almost overlook the different colored eyes and indeed say that they were twins.

            That was until the Hogwarts letter came for Dorcas alone.

            Suddenly, they started having completely different lifestyles as if they were two culturally unrelated countries and magical ability or the lack thereof was a chasm too deep and wide to cross.

            “How are the wizards treating you?”  Darcy asked, ushering her sister behind a counter that separated the living room from the kitchen.  The said counter was more artwork than high table.

            Dorcas loved her sister’s apartment.  Paintings and prints covered the walls, muggle books lay scattered in every corner, scarves, throws and patchworks draped every surface and mismatched furniture seemed to be the dominating theme.  But everything fit, somehow.  It was just so... Darcy.  The room full of contradictions fit the woman who was not really magical, not really muggle.

            She perched herself on one of Darcy’s mismatched stools and tapped her fingers on the wooden table inlaid haphazardly with brightly colored tiles.

            “Pretty much the same.”  Dorcas answered, trying to be nonchalant.  She didn’t want to start a serious conversation before Darcy sat down.  Darcy raised an eyebrow disbelievingly.  Dorcas endured her scrutiny by slipping on a bland expression and waited until her sister let it go.

            “Intros like that call for strong coffee.”  Darcy finally announced and puttered around her kitchen in a swirl of colorful skirts.

            Dorcas would have offered to prepare the coffee and would probably have done it faster with magic, but she knew her sister would be offended.

            A moment later, Darcy carried two mugs, one bearing the name Oxford, the other having a lurid banana and an obscene caption.  She placed the latter in front of Dorcas. 

            “So, what’s so important Cassie that you couldn’t send Byron over?”

            Byron was her owl and a gift from Darcy for their sixteenth birthday.

            “Wait, don’t tell me.”  Darcy paused dramatically.  “You’re finally being shagged on a regular basis.”

            Dorcas gave her a haughty look.  “That would be none of your business.”

            “But it would certainly be news.”  Darcy returned pertly.

            Dorcas waited until Darcy stopped laughing, then broke the news.

            “You remember, I’ve been telling you about Voldemort.”

            Darcy nodded.  Dorcas then proceeded to explain about agreeing to act as a spy.

            “We have to be cautious, Darcy.  We’ll set up wards around this place.  It’s dangerous enough because of mum and dad.  They can’t find out about you.”

            Darcy and Dorcas’ parents had active roles in the creation of the Muggle Protection Act.  In the process, their parents had angered a number of the pure blood families.  More so, since the Meadowes were just as pureblooded.  The two of them had more than enough memories of being cornered in Diagon Alley and being threatened. 

_Bloodtraitors’ little spawns.  Tell your parents to be careful, or you might end up orphans._  

            As Dorcas grew up, she learned to handle herself with words and a few threatening jabs of her own wand at the offending person.  But Darcy hardly set foot in Diagon Alley after she found out she was a squib.  Their mother was saddened but remained respectful of Darcy’s decision to live a more muggle life.

            Then a couple of years ago- during Dorcas’ last year in Hogwarts, somebody came through with their threats.  Mr. and Mrs. Meadowes were found dead in their bed, strangled by a Venus Tentacula plant transfigured to look like an ornamental ficus.

            It happened on Christmas break.  Darcy, who went to a muggle boarding school, got off earlier than Dorcas.  She arrived to an eerily quiet house and was surprised to find her parents covered in vines, their eyes glassy, their lips a ghastly shade of blue.  It was sheer luck that Dorcas had sent Byron to Darcy with a note.  Using Byron, Darcy was able to send Dorcas a message.  Within minutes, Dorcas and Dumbledore were beside a hysterical Darcy.

            The Ministry ruled it an accident, although it was whispered in certain circles that some of the wizarding families got fed up with the Meadowes’ lobbying.

            With the increasing popularity of Voldemort’s propaganda on the superiority of pure magical blood and the rule of the strong, it couldn’t in any way help that Darcy was a Meadowes and a squib.

            “I can’t see you anymore.  I can’t send Byron, Darcy.  He could be captured.  It could be dangerous….” Dorcas trailed off.

            There was no need to add _for you._

            “So we get another war.”  Darcy said soberly.

            “It could be.”

            “Cassie, I’m just glad mum and dad aren’t here to see this.”

            “Me too, Dars.”

            The twin sisters were silent for a moment, the air thick with things left unsaid.  Darcy was biting her lip, her eyes glittering.  Dorcas looked away but her lashes felt heavy with moisture as well.

            “It’s for the best Dars.”

            “I know.  Doesn’t make it easier, but I know.”

            Moving by instinct, the sisters fell into an embrace and remained in that position for some time.

            Finally, trying to keep their parting light and happy, Darcy spoke up.  “Well that was interesting.”

            “Anything is more interesting than my love life.”  Dorcas said wryly, backing her sister’s effort to insert levity in the situation.

            Darcy laughed.  “You’ve got to admit, you getting luv on a regular basis deserves a party and a Prophet announcement.”

            Dorcas raised an eyebrow.  “I don’t see a man _around here_.”

            “You were lucky.  _Any other day_ , and there would have been a lot of loving.”       

            Dorcas snorted.  “ _Lucky me._   What are the chances of that.”

            Darcy’s tinkling laugh filled the small space of her apartment, prompting Dorcas’ own.  “Come on.  Why don’t you do those protection spells you’ve been bragging about.”

* * *

            Dorcas returned to her own flat past midnight, after setting up all the wards and protective spells around Darcy’s apartment.  She realized that she hasn’t had supper yet, but was too tired to be bothered to prepare anything.  She trudged to her bedroom instead, fell into troubled sleep and dreamed of glassy eyes, outstretched hands and crawling vines.


	4. Chapter 3

            Potions was hardly her best subject.  She made herself proficient in it and took it up to N.E.W.T.s level because it was a requirement for Auror training.  However, ever since she turned her back to that avenue, her uses of it had been limited to healing potions and sleeping draughts.  The latter had become a common thing to brew.  Sleep, it seemed, was a rare commodity in war.

            That night was no exception, as the memory of lunch with Marlene McKinnon played relentlessly in her head.  She had instigated a very public argument and had broken off ties with one of her oldest and truest friends.

_“Cassie.”  Marlene kissed her cheek and plopped down into a chair.  People have been watching the tall witch with sparkling blue eyes and bouncing honey curls since her entrance but Marlene remained oblivious to the stares she was getting.  “Jerome’s sorry he couldn’t come, but couldn’t really take a cab to Hogsmeade, right, and I had to take Junior to his grandmummy so I didn’t have the time to arrange a portkey from the Ministry.”  Marlene explained in her usual sunny way._

_“Marlene.”  Dorcas returned icily.  “Don’t bother getting comfortable, we won’t take long.”_

_Marlene gave her a confused look and reached over to squeeze her arm.  Dorcas quickly pulled it out of her reach._

_“Why, do you want to transfer?  I mean, sure, it’s a crush but-”  Her brow furrowed.  “Cassie are you okay?”_

_“I’m a little troubled Marlene, with how you’ve become so comfortable with all of their muggle nonsense.”_

_“I have to, don’t I?  It’s amazing really, how they’ve survived without magic.  They can be quite ingenious.  Makes me regret not taking Muggle Studies.”  Marlene explained, still friendly._

_Dorcas gripped the edge of the table, as if physically steeling herself against the coming emotional storm.  “Marlene, you’re a pureblood.  Why are you dirtying yourself with this filth?”_

_Marlene looked at her as if she’s never seen her before.  “Is this a bad joke, Cass?  You never believed the pureblood crap.”_

_“I was naive and mislead by my foolish parents.”  Dorcas kept her face flat.  “I know better now.”_

_“Foolish, Dorcas?”  Marlene snapped.  “Your parents were bloody brilliant.  Wonderfully compassionate people who made Wizarding Laws decent and fair.  How dare you disrespect them like that.”_

_They were getting an audience, which was good, because people would now talk about how the Meadowes child supported the pureblood cause and how she distanced herself from anybody and anything that didn’t support that ideal._

_“They sired me,” said Dorcas, keeping her voice controlled.  “But they’re dead, aren’t they?  I’m old enough to believe what I want.”_

_Marlene crossed her arms and very deliberately held on to her wand.  She didn’t outright point it at Dorcas, but it sent the message across. “So what’s the point of this?”_

_“You are a pureblood.  The McKinnons are one of the oldest wizarding clans in England.  Have some Wizarding pride.  If you could let go of your muggle ties-”_

_“-Let go?”  Marlene was outraged.  “That is my family.  My life.  My husband and my son you are talking about!”  She punctuated the last sentence by slapping her palm on the table._

_Glasses jumped.  The room fell silent._

_And Marlene stormed away._

 

            Part of the pain was because it was on awful terms and nothing could alleviate that, regardless of how many times she repeated to herself that it was for the cause.  At least with Darcy, their good byes had been real and not fraught with deception. 

            A bigger part of the pain was due to the fact that it was a friendship that they had tried so hard, despite all of the prejudices of the Hogwarts’ houses, to maintain.

            She had lived a pretty isolated life in Hogwarts since Slytherin was hardly a house to cultivate friendships in.  She had two close friends Marlene McKinnon and Caradoc Dearborn, but both of them were in different houses and since the political climate at Hogwarts was reflective of the outside world, she didn't have the luxury of keeping an open friendship with them.  They didn’t walk together to class or chat to each other across their houses’ tables in the Great Hall.

            They maintained the friendship by meeting after class hours in a secluded table in the library.  That being the only time they saw each other, they tended to stay there till closing.  Needless to say, Madam Pince wasn’t too happy with their chatting.  She had tried everything short of banning them from the library to keep them quiet, but when Dorcas and her friends returned night after night, she simply gave up and ignored them as long as they didn’t disturb any of the other students.

            Now, the severing of ties was done.  Bridges have been burned.  Marlene would undoubtedly talk to Caradoc about what happened, which was a blessing.  She didn’t think she could deal with another good bye.      

_***_

            A week passed with Dorcas playing her new role as spy, which meant she was to play under the guise of a pureblooded witch, disgruntled with her parents’ heritage and generally disgruntled in the Ministry that she worked for and in the lack of Wizarding pride in present society.

Dorcas stretched languidly in her seat and looked at the clock hanging on top of the doorway.  Two past twelve.  _Finally._   She arranged the scrolls on her desk and slipped the more important ones into a drawer which she magically sealed.

            She has been working as a secretary for the Keeper of Prophecies in the Prophetic Records Section as part of her cover.  It gave her an excuse to stay in the Department of Mysteries and disappear once in a while to the Incolumitas Division offices.  At the same time, to any of the outsiders, it lent the illusion that she was simply some rank and file Ministry employee.

            Prior to agreeing to work as a spy, her working schedule involved dueling practice with Benjy twice a week, doing surveillance work majority of the time and filling in the gaps by doing unbelievably copious amounts of paperwork.  The running joke in the Division was that the top secret job may seem glamorous because nobody knew about the amount of paperwork. Dorcas had once thought that it would be the paper trail, if anything, that would tip the public to the Division's identity.

            Given her new duties in the Division, her time was still as hectic, but it was spent doing duller work.  Whereas before, this cover- working as a secretary- was only on paper, now, she needed to keep the appearance of an eight to five employee.  All the other work for the Incolumitas Division such as practice with Benjy and finishing her reports was done after hours.  Free time was spent actively seeking old Slytherin acquaintances and hoping for a chance to get into what the Division had dubbed the inner circle of Voldemort's supporters.

            “Gus, I’m off for the day.  But I’ll come an hour early tomorrow, okay.”  She had requested for half the day off a couple of days ago, but given Gus’ tendency to live inside his books for weeks at a time, she wasn’t sure he’d remember.

            Gustav Rheinoff, the Keeper of Prophecies and her “boss,” didn’t even look up from the book that he was studying.  The only indication that he heard Dorcas was a grunt and the small shooing motion he made with his hands.

            There was going to be a rally in Alley Square, off Diagon Alley, at three, to support the pureblood cause and she was going to try to ingratiate herself among the ranks of Voldemort’s supporters.

            The rally at three was going to be a major event.  It’s been rumored that a number of the old Wizarding families will be present.  It was _the event_ to see and be seen.  And a good way to get into the fold.

            Of the players that the Incolumitas Division was following, she had already chosen Rabastan Lestrange as her ticket into Voldemort’s inner circle.  The Lestrange brothers had been under her watch, so she was already aware of their comings and goings.  It could have been any of the two, but Rodolphus was practically engaged to Bellatrix Black, and that was one witch Dorcas wasn’t inclined to do battle with over anything.

            She apparated at Diagon Alley then made her way to Knockturn Alley.  Still far from three, it was already a bustle of activity.  Hags and warlocks moved here and there, talking about reforms, and more frighteningly about Muggle Eating bills.  Dorcas overheard a group saying that the Ministry gave special permission to use blood spells during the rally, and that, if anything, was a good reason to go.

            But what caught her attention was a number of wizards and witches, all of them with their hoods pulled low over their faces, moving from store to store.  Voldemort's supporters were known to keep their identities a secret, thus when preparing for public gatherings, Dorcas had seen them before go around in robes with deep hoods.  Even during the public events, they opted to wear generic black robes and white masks.

            Dorcas stood to one side of the street, under the awning of a store and in the shadows.  She studied the postures and movements of these wizards and witches, trying to identify as many as possible.

            A tall wizard in dark blue, silk robes strode purposefully, swinging an expensive cane topped with a silver snake.  _Lucius Malfoy.  The hood doesn’t do you any good.  You should have left the cane at home._

            A group of three hooded figures rounded the far corner.  Based on their hand movements, they were talking animatedly.  The two flanking figures were male.  The one in the center had the curvaceous figure of a female and it seemed as if she were in command. 

_Bellatrix Black, and the brothers Lestrange._  

            Bella’s gait was unmistakable.  Bellatrix was in her last year at Hogwarts when Dorcas entered and she had spent her entire first year blending in the shadows whenever she heard that walk.

            They stopped by a group of harpies and Bella stepped forward and gave what must have been a convincing speech.  The harpies were nodding emphatically.

            A tall, thin figure with a slight hunch and wearing black robes, moved swiftly through the alley.  Dorcas squinted, trying to place him.  He wasn’t on the Division’s list of targets but there was something familiar about him.  Something that told her she’s seen him before.

            There was another figure, tall, broad shouldered and wearing remarkably expensive robes, walking towards the store she was standing in front of.  Since she didn’t know if this was some Auror or one of the Division’s targets, she tried to move from under the awning without looking conspicuous but it was too late.

            He lifted his head and gazed straight at her face.  She ducked her head to disguise some of her features, hoping that it made her look demure and not paranoid.  But she knew it was too late.  Because he stood against the light and because of his hood, she couldn’t see his face, but the tiny surprised jump that he gave told her that he recognized her. 

_Probably a Slytherin_ , she thought and followed him inside the store.  There was nothing to be done about being recognized so she might as well try to figure out who recognized her.

 

            The store, which claimed to be an antique shop, sold mostly knick-knacks, a number of which Dorcas was pretty sure came from the last five years.  But once in a while, amidst the “certified” sneakoscope of Merlin, the “authentic” voodoo _gris gris_ (inside psychedelic colored cloths festooned with smiley faces), and a rusty sword claiming to be Excalibur, she’d spot something truly old and frightening.  On a shelf was a goblet with runes indicating that it is to be used for blood spells.  Hanging on one of the walls was a black dish so shiny she suspected it was used as a scrying pool.  There were bottles with labels identifying their contents as elf fingers, pixie sex organs, mooncalf eyes and an unlabeled one with something that looked suspiciously like human tongues suspended in blood.

            The hooded figure she was following was at the other end of the shop, by the counter and was having an argument with the proprietor.  He had removed his hood to reveal a shock of thick black hair.

            Dorcas walked around a shelf to get a clearer view.

            Regulus Black.

            No wonder he recognized her.  They were in the same year and in the same house in Hogwarts.

            The proprietor of the shop, the person he was arguing with, turned out to be Sirius Black.

            “Father wants you home.”  The voice she recognized as Regulus’ said.

            “Father is hardly the person I’ll call _in charge_ of the Black household.”  A similar but slightly deeper voice- _Sirius’_ she thought- replied.  “Mother won’t be happy if I showed up.”

            “If you would just stop this nonsense of mudblood loving.  _Working,_ for crying out loud Sirius.  Mother said that as Blacks, we shouldn’t taint our hands with these things.”

            She heard Sirius give a bark of mirthless laughter.  “You spoiled little...”

            “Don’t tell me you _enjoy_ this.”

            “Of course I do.”  The answer was upbeat, but even Dorcas recognized the lie in his voice.  “Besides Reg, I have my own hours.  I come and go whenever I please.  And it’s never boring.”  Sirius continued in a wry tone, “You never can tell when arrogant little berks pass by.”

            Regulus had his hands fisted by his side, his face a brilliant shade of red.  Sirius was leaning against the counter behind him, posture relaxed, but Dorcas noticed that he kept his right hand dangling near the pocket of his robes. 

            She wasn’t able to watch what happened next as she sensed somebody pass behind her.  She quickly drew out her wand and pointed it straight into the surprised face of a squat wizard, with stringy blond hair and rheumy eyes. 

            He gave a loud squeak.

_The Pettigrew boy.  One of Sirius Black’s friends._

            Instantly, two wands pointed in her direction.

_James Potter and Remus Lupin.  Of course._

            She raised her right hand, the one not holding the wand and slowly lowered her wand arm.  She wanted to apologize to Peter Pettigrew but it wasn’t in accordance with her cover.

            “Stop scaring away my customers.”  Sirius’ lazy drawl drifted towards them from the counter.  Regulus was still by the counter watching the commotion, a wand in his hand, but it was forgotten and dangling idly by his side.

            “So how can I help you Miss-?”  Sirius asked amiably but there was a slight tightness to it, a trace of his previous argument with Regulus.

            James beat her to it.  “Meadowes, right?  You’re the daughter of Damian and Daria Meadowes.  You work for the Ministry.”

            So some people have been keeping tabs on her family.  She was a little relieved that it was Potter doing it and not any of the pureblood enthusiasts but she was a private person by nature and it irked her none the less.  But what frightened her the most was that she didn’t have a clue how much other people know about the Meadowes, about Darcy in particular.

            But Potter could have gotten the information from his father, who at one time worked for the Wizengamot, the wizarding court, and would have encountered her parents during one of their lobbying sessions.

            Dorcas was acutely aware of Regulus eyeing her suspiciously.  If the daughter of two of the most muggle loving purebloods in the history of Wizardom was friendly with this lot- and Regulus saw it- her chance would be blown even before she started.  So she opted instead to raise an eyebrow.

            “I wish to purchase something.  That’s what you do in a store, right?”  She said sarcastically.  She picked up the first thing she laid her hands on.

            “Interesting choice.”  James said darkly.  He was clearly taken aback.  “I didn’t know Ministry employees were allowed to purchase dark artifacts.”

            Dorcas looked down and saw that she had picked up a small but very sharp silver dagger with snakes carved along its handle.  The snakes slithered and hissed at her every so often.  One of them sunk its tiny silver fangs into the flesh of her palm, leaving two tiny pinpricks of red.  She almost dropped it.  Both ends of the knife looked menacing.

            She gave James a cold stare.  “Sadly enough, not everyone in the Ministry demonstrates true wizarding feeling.  Or even outside of the Ministry.  Not even the purebloods.”  She gave Sirius a pointed stare.

            Sirius eyebrows furrowed.  It looked like he was choking on a reply.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus put a hand on Sirius forearm.

            “It’s a very dangerous artifact.”  Sirius warned through clenched teeth.  “A _sangsurin_ ”

            “I know _what_ it is and how to use it.”  She took the dagger, pricked her index finger with the point and squeezed a drop of blood into each of the serpents’ mouths.  The eyes of the serpents glowed red, then lay still against the handle.

            She gave Sirius what she hoped was a haughty sneer and paid for her purchase.

            As she was leaving, she saw that Peter looked scared, Sirius looked outraged, James looked confused, Remus looked thoughtful.

            And Regulus looked intrigued.

 ***

            It was only half an hour before the rally, and already Alley Square, the open ground in front of Gringotts was filled to the capacity.  There were no laws against such public gatherings, but the Ministry had wizards and witches from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad stationed around the square.  There were also Aurors and Unspeakables from inside and outside the Incolumitas Division.

            Dorcas felt a prickly feeling on her skin when she reached Alley Square and knew that she entered the anti-disapparition barriers setup by the Ministry.  They were a precaution against riots, ensuring that whoever started them would be trapped within the area.  It wasn’t particularly safe for the injured and tended to further increase injuries since it made it more difficult for healers to reach them and for those who weren’t injured to leave the area to prevent further injury, but it made it easier for the Magical Law Enforcers to catch the culprits.

She shook her head. _Fudge’s logic._  

            Dorcas looked around her, trying to decide the best way to reach the front of the gathering, closer to the known Voldemort supporters.  She wasn’t afraid of the MLES but it was wise to be wary of the aurors.  If anything suspicious happened, and she got caught by an auror, the Department of Mysteries will disavow any claims she will make about being sub rosa. 

            The Incolumitas Division is top secret and by all accounts, does not exist.  She is, as of public record, a secretary for the Keeper of Prophesies.  All of the other members of the Incolumitas Division were treated the same way.  Their employment record lists them as researchers, secretaries, clerks and having other such mundane jobs in the Department of Mysteries.         

            Gazing around the crowd, she spotted Frank Longbottom and Kingsley Shaklebolt by the right side of the stage positioned at the bottom of the Gringotts stairs.  She let herself be carried by the movement of the crowd forward, but consciously avoided that side of the stage. 

            Midway through the crowd, she spotted Benjy Fenwick having a nice little chat with a couple of witches.  The red haired one she recognized as Lily Evans, who was Head Girl the year before Dorcas left school.  The shorter, blond witch she couldn’t name but was sure was a Gryffindor.  She knew Lily was an Auror-in-Training, which meant the other one was, as well. 

            Benjy spotted her and gave her a sly wink.  She looked around; when she saw that nobody was looking at her, she gave Benjy a small wave and moved on.

            She was only a few meters away from the stage when she felt somebody behind her shoving people. 

            “Watch it!”

            “Ouch, my toes...”

            “Hey!”  The person next to her shouted.

            “Sorry.”  Someone from the crowd said gruffly.

            The crowd started parting, moving this way and that, trying to ferret out who was rudely pushing people about.  The person, who caused the commotion, brushed by her and slipped a piece of parchment into her hands.  Cautiously, she palmed the note.  Dorcas also took advantage of the situation.  In a few jostles, she found herself directly in front of the stage.

            Raising her hand as a shield against intruding eyes, she opened the note.

 

_Red twins- 41-43. Paranoid- 39-40.  Others taken.  Use 38.  Undid the charms. -J._

 

            Once she finished reading, the note burst into flames small enough to keep cupped in her hand until it went out. 

            The note was from Jillian Carson, another one of the Unspeakables that Dorcas worked with in the Division.  The numbers represented the streets running perpendicular to Diagon Alley.  The Prewett brothers will be guarding forty first to forty third and Moody watching thirty ninth and forthiet street.  That left thirty-eight street as the only escape route.

            She sorted through her mental map of Diagon Alley, trying to recall where thirty-eighth led to, then realized it was a narrow, dead-end street.  The Aurors wouldn’t have seen the need to guard it, but they would have placed an anti-disapparition barrier around it.  The Aurors were magically powerful so whatever spell Jillian cast to disable the barrier, it would most likely be temporary.  Which means if anything happens, she would have to leave the place fast.

 ***

 

            _“Here we are, during the modern times, and we are slowly losing our sense of self.  Just like water trickling through our fingers. That is how we are treating our traditions.  Have we forgotten to look back on where we came from?  Have we forgotten what it means to be magical?_

_"We are the ones who used to rule this isle.  From the moment we moved out of Greece and Rome and Egypt and landed in this noble island, we have done nothing but transform it into the glorious place that it is.  We are the ones who conquered the merciless rocks of this country and made it grow.  We are the ones who coaxed the land to bear fruit._

_"If it were not for us, the muggles would have died out.  We are the ones who have given them the cures for their illnesses and have aided them to prosper in this new frontier._

_"And what do they do to us.  At first they became greedy and demand more than what they deserve.  Then they became lazy, only seeking magical solutions for problems that could be solved with hard work and without magic.  When we started to refuse for their own good, they burned us at stakes.  They cursed our name._

_"Then because of blood traitors and marriages with them and they started producing half bloods, they think that they do not need us anymore.  They think that simply because the magic has been included in their own blood lines, that they can get rid of us.  And they do this because they want the magic for their own selfish needs._

_"They do not see that such magic is tainted.  Such magic is dirty and impure because it is wanted for self-serving reasons.  They want it because it makes their life easier.  There is no pride in their using of magic._

_They do not understand the value of blood.  Of tradition.”_

             The figure stood regally in the center of the stage, her voice carrying out due to the effects of the Sonorous.  Her speech was dramatic, her demeanor intriguing.  Despite the shapeless black robes and the white mask that concealed her identity, she certainly drew the eyes of everybody in the crowd.  The audience was cheering wildly and clapping enthusiastically. 

            This was the fourth of the speeches delivered.  Each speech was given by a masked supporter of Voldemort, and their identities were kept secret.  But Dorcas could place this speaker as Bellatrix Black, only because of the information she has due to her job.

         

             _“Despite all of this, we continue to protect them.  The fools in our history and in the Ministry continue to make laws and rules that work more for their welfare than for our own.  Don’t you see the injustice in all of this?_

_"Well I for one say that it is enough.  It is time to stand for ourselves.  And I call all of you to join me to stand behind the banner of the magical race!”_

 

            The applause was deafening.  Dorcas could feel the thrum of energy permeating the crowd, and put herself on ready.  With the audience worked out like this, a single misstep could lead to a riot.

            Bellatrix looked out at her enraptured audience and raised her wand arm towards the crowd. "So today is the day that we stand up for ourselves!  _Immunda Sang!_ ” A faint light erupted from Bellatrix’s wand accompanied by a loud _crack_ and the entire assembly was covered in a blanket of green light.

            As the light touched her skin, Dorcas felt a strange tingling sensation start at her nape and slowly spread through her whole body.

            The spell must have been an ancient one, for it wasn’t in the Standard Book of Spells years 1-7- or any of the other spell books she studied in and out of Hogwarts- and Dorcas doubted that Miranda Goshawk would recommend its use.

            Then all hell broke loose.

            All around her, witches and wizards started dropping on the ground.  Others started retching violently.  The ones who weren’t affected by the strange spell pushed each other around, trying to get out off the square. 

            Dorcas went for the stage, thinking that higher ground would keep her clear from any residual effects of the spell.  Then seeing Longbottom and Shaklebolt moving towards the stage themselves, and restraining the people there, she opted to go in the opposite direction.  Towards thirty-eighth street.

            The din of the crowd was getting louder, as charms, curses and hexes were thrown around.  The sound of footwear against the cobblestones and the sobs for help, punctuated by sharp words of Ministry workers barking orders added to the confusion.

            People were pushing around her, trying to get out of the square.  She picked up the hem of her robes with one hand to prevent it from being stepped on and she used her other hand to clear her way through the crowed.

            She heard a group of warlocks shouting _cruento_ again and again, and the witches and wizards who weren’t on the ground or retching got drenched in a thick, red substance that Dorcas suspected was blood.

            Around her, she discretely cast shielding charms on the wizards and witches who fainted or who looked sick to keep them from being trampled on but she didn’t stop to attend to them.  She couldn’t be seen by Voldemort’s cohorts as helping these people.  And she needed to get out of here as quickly as possible.  She knew how the Ministry worked.  Anybody caught in the area, will be detained and questioned. 

            She moved along as quickly as she could, given the multitude of people around her.  Once she got into a slightly cleared area, she started running, only to crash into someone.

            “Dammit!”  The voice sounded very loud, considering the noise.

            Dorcas picked herself up, ignoring the pain on the hip that she landed on.

            She found herself staring at Regulus Black. Malfoy, Narcissa Black, Crabbe and Goyle were with him and they were running in the opposite direction.

            Recognizing her opportunity to ingratiate herself with known pureblood cause supporters, she said, “not that way,” and tilted her head towards the direction she was headed.

            Regulus looked at her skeptically, trying to decide if he should follow. Malfoy’s expression was a little bit more menacing.

            “Why should I follow a Meadowes?”  Lucius said scathingly.

            “Up to you.”  Dorcas returned. “I work for the Ministry. I know its weak points.” 

            “You could be leading us into a trap.” Narcissa said haughtily.

            Dorcas shrugged, hoping that she looked nonchalant and not frightened. She was breathing hard, her heart was beating unnaturally fast.

            “The anti-appartition barriers aren’t going down anytime soon and the place is teeming with Aurors. As I see it, you have two options. You could either go back in that direction and be caught by those Aurors. Or you could go with me. If I’m lying, you’ll be caught by Aurors anyway. If I’m not...”  Dorcas left the sentence hanging, then turned away from them and started for thirty-eighth.

            Malfoy’s regal face lined for a moment as he deliberated this. Narcissa looked irritated by the brashness of her response. Regulus looked as if he wanted to follow her but he waited for what Malfoy would do. 

            Then Malfoy nodded towards the group, and they all followed Dorcas. 

            When they reached thirty-eight street, Malfoy looked around. 

            “It looks safe.” He said. He gave Dorcas a nod, which she supposed was as close as he’d get to acknowledging she was correct. She bit back an _I told you so_. 

            Then he motioned to Narcissa. “Are you coming?” The couple disapparated.

            Regulus looked at her curiously. “You’ve changed since Hogwarts.”

            Then he gave instructions to Crabbe and Goyle to apparate to a wizarding pub some distance away from Diagon Alley.

            When they were gone, he faced Dorcas. “There’s something I think you’ll be interested in. I’ll contact you.”

            Then he was gone.

            Dorcas peered around the corner to take stock of what was happening in Alley Square before disapparating herself.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was begun ages ago, before Rowling wrote that the Order communicated through Patronuses, hence the use of the symbol in this story. Sorry for that cannon divergence.

            “A Black, through and through!” Sirius spat. Considering his sentiments about his family, it was the worst thing he could think of saying about cousin Bella. 

            “She _is something_.” Peter muttered distractedly.

            The anti-apparition barriers were disabled after the MLES and the Aurors had detained anybody wearing the black robes and the white mask. Then Moody had signaled that they could take Lily and leave Alley Square. 

            They had apparated back at the Potters' residence in Godric’s Hollow after the riot. While Sirius, James and Peter weren’t affected by the spell, Lily had fainted. Then after James had revived her, she had gone down in a fit of retching. 

            Remus had been affected as well, going pale and woozy but still able to move about. In typical Remus fashion, he refused any help that Sirius offered.

            James gently laid Lily on the couch. She had stopped retching, but still looked pale. His hands were shaking as he pushed her hair off her forehead.

            Remus had already collected some herbs, built up a fire and set a cauldron in it.

            “Sirius, if I could take you away from the highly entertaining but completely useless pastime of family bashing, perhaps you could help me with this.” Remus’ tone was light, but Sirius could see he was shaken by the experience.

            Sirius looked chastised for a moment and proceeded to provide assistance with the potion.

            “Remus, why don’t you-” He motioned to one of the chairs in the living room.

            “I’m fine, Sirius,” Remus said. His tone of voice left no room for argument.

            Sirius directed his attention to the ingredients laid out in front of the fire and concluded that Remus planned to make a Calming Draught, the panacea of home remedies, drank when there is no known cure to an ailment. He ran a critical eye over the ingredients, noticed something missing, then shouted over his shoulder.

            “Oi Peter, could you find some lavender, since Remus wants to put Lily in a coma.”

            “Please?”  Peter shouted sarcastically. Sirius ignored the bait.

            Seeing that Sirius was much more competent to complete the task, Remus raised his hands in mock surrender then sat in one of the wing chairs.

            “Don’t sound so hopeful, Sirius Black.” Lily said. She was weak but there was humor in her voice.

            At Sirius’ comment, James glanced through all the ingredients, making sure the potion brewing was going smoothly.        

            Peter returned with the lavender and watched over Sirius’ head while he brewed the Calming Draught. Despite his nonchalant behavior, the line of Sirius’ shoulders betrayed the tension they were all feeling over what happened.

            When the potion was finished, Sirius ladled out portions to Lily and Remus. After a few sips, some color returned to their faces. 

            Deprived of something to do, Sirius took up pacing in front of the fireplace. Peter was seated on the floor by the fireplace, wringing his hands. Despite being unaffected by the spell, James managed to look paler than Lily somehow. He was gripping her hand so tightly that she extricated it for a moment, shook some feeling back into it, before holding James’ hand again. Remus had his brow furrowed and was swirling the dregs of his drink, seemingly lost in the depths of his teacup. 

            For a time, nobody was talking.

            “What do you reckon that spell was?” It was James who broke the silence.

            “Powerful spell. Old magic.” Peter said almost reverently.

            “Your cousin was certainly charming.” Lily said.

            Sirius stopped his pacing and faced Lily. He felt the grimace on his face vanish when he saw her half smile. “I’ll remember to tell her when I see her,” he said dryly.

            Remus had a thoughtful expression, and after a moment, spoke up. “I read about a similar spell before, doing research for Dumbledore. The _Immunda Letum-_ the Blood Cleaning Curse. It’s supposed to, ah, if I remember the book clearly- _amputate all of impure blood_.”

            “Cut their legs and arms off?” Peter asked frightened.

            James, who hasn’t been saying much, blanched some more.

            “Very good, Mr. Lupin.” A sing song voice chanted. It came from the portrait of a black haired witch, with bright, twinkling eyes, hanging on one side of the fireplace. “At least that is what Albus thinks as well.”

            “Artemesia, how’s it hanging?” Sirius greeted.

            The image of Artemesia Potter gave him a toothy grin. “Mr. Black, _it_ has been hanging far longer than your years here on this good earth, and has a better sense of humor than yours.” Then addressing the rest of the group, “The Headmaster wishes that all of you stay put for a while. He asks to have a word with you, but is currently indisposed. He says that he will be here in five minutes.” The portrait of Artemesia said then disappeared out of the frame, probably to reappear in her other frame in the Headmaster’s office.

            The Headmaster stepped out of the fireplace exactly five minutes later and took in stock the physical condition and expressions on everybody’s faces before starting.

            “Remus, Lily, how are the two of you? Dumbledore asked kindly.

            “I’m quite fine, headmaster, just a little shaken. It is Lily that-” 

            “-I’m fine as well.”  Lily interrupted.

            “The effects of the spell seem temporary, and all that could be done is to comfort those affected by it. The calming draught, as you may have discovered,” he gazed at the cups on the low table, “is the best remedy that could be given at the moment and Healers from St. Mungo’s are having the victims at Alley Square take it as well.” Dumbledore explained. 

            “How come Remus wasn’t as badly affected as Lily?” Peter asked.

            Dumbledore scratched his chin, musing the question. “I think it has something to do with parentage. Both of Remus’ parents are magical, but his mother is muggle-born. Lily, on the other hand, is muggle-born. We noted that with the victims in Alley Square, only muggle-borns and half-bloods were affected, but the muggle-borns more so.”

            “What was that...?” James asked. “The Blood Cleaning Curse?”

            Dumbledore shook his head. “Artemesia tells me that Remus,” he gazed in that direction, “has mentioned the Blood Cleaning Curse. This is a new spell, but it is based on that one. Several Ministry employees are already casting spell diagnostics to determine the structure of this spell, and it seems as if it was based on the _Immunda Letum_.”

            “Remus said the Blood Cleaning Curse amputates all those of impure blood.” Peter said.

            “Yes, and this one causes minor injuries.” Dumbledore continued. “I think that was done in the event that Voldemort’s followers are caught. In this case, the law states that they can only be fined for a temporarily lasting spell. In fact there is a higher penalty for casting a furnunculus hex, or any spell done in a public gathering that needs to be reversed.”

            Sirius let out a long string of expletives.

            “As much as I agree with the sentiment, Sirius, that is what is stated in our laws. It is however our moral duty to do something since the Ministry has been responding passively to this.” Dumbledore said.  “There is a need to start an organized front against the darkness. I will contact all of you in a few days to discuss this further. But we will take action against such maltreatment.”

            There were varying degrees of agreement expressed by the group.

            “So what has happened in Alley Square? Has any of my lovely family members been caught?”  Sirius asked bitterly.

            Dumbledore gave him a sad smile. “Bellatrix Black was apprehended. So were the Lestrange brothers, Avery, McNair, Dolohov and Jugson. However, they have been released. Like I said, the penalty for a temporary spell is a fine. But the other known supporters, like Malfoy, Narcissa Black and Regulus,” Dumbledore tilted his head at Sirius, “seemed to have slipped from the Ministry’s fingers.”

            Sirius bit back another set of expletives. Lily looked like she was going to spit nails. James shushed her and stroked her hair. Remus simply looked resigned.

            “As much as I want to stay in your lovely home, James, I have to take my leave. I need to return to Alley Square to see to some things.” Then he turned to Sirius. “Sirius, I wish to have a word with you.  Would it be all right for you to wait for me at Hogwarts?”

            After saying their good byes, Sirius followed Dumbledore through the fireplace.

***

            Sirius paced the length of Dumbledore’s office over and over. He had been doing that in Godric’s Hollow. Hell, he’d been doing it since his first year, whenever he got stuck on guard duty for one or another Marauder prank. He had never been a patient bloke and took to waiting as well as pigs took to flying on broomsticks.

            “You can stop that now.” Artemesia said idly. “I know it seems unlikely, but I am getting nauseous with your incessant movement.”

            With the exception of Artemesia, all of the other headmasters’ portraits were either dozing or out of their frames. But Sirius could swear that amidst the loud snoring, one or two of them peeked out of slited eyes. 

            “I need to do something.” Sirius growled. “I should be back at Godric’s Hollow helping Lily and James. Or making sure Remus gets home safely. At least _doing something!_ ”

            “Yes, another cauldron full of Calming Draught would _surely_ help.” The reply came with a muffled laugh. “As if the nearly full one you left behind wasn’t enough.” 

            That stopped Sirius. Reluctantly, he took a seat, feeling like a green student on his first detention.

            “Thank you.” Artemesia gave him a regal stare which didn’t last long and she ended up letting out a resigned sigh. “You are quite lucky I find you charming, Mr. Black. That and the fact that I’m long dead.  Or you wouldn’t get away with half of the nonsense you, my great, great, great nephew and the rest of your little pack attends to so fervently.”

            “You flatter us.”

            She gave an uncharacteristically unladylike snort. “ _I concede._ So that you wouldn’t be troubled, I’ll inform you of what is happening to your friends. They are _quite all right_. James has decided to stay in Godric’s Hollow for the night, instead of that cramped place of his. After you left, James’ parents have returned to Godric’s Hollow. They were quite worried when they heard what happened and rushed to Alley Square. It took them awhile to get hold of Moody, who informed them that you lot took Ms. Evans and Mr. Lupin away. They put two and two together and went home.” She rolled her eyes. “Took them long enough, too. The soft fools.”

            Sirius smirked. “What a fine Slytherin you are.” 

            “Why thank you, Mr. Black. Anyway, Mr. Pettigrew left a few minutes after you. He said he had to get home to his mother who would be crying her eyes out with worry.”

            “Mr. Lupin stayed until the Potters arrived then gave a polite good bye. Seeing as I am limited by my portraits, I do not know if your two friends arrived at their intended destinations safely.”

            “With the departure of the two, Ms. Evans and Jamie had an altercation over where Ms. Evans should stay. She insisted on going to her parents’ house, to see to her family, but my descendant was quite insistent on having her stay.”

            “Without a doubt, Lily got her way,” Sirius grinned.

            Artemesia returned his grin. “Without a doubt.”

            A discrete cough had the portrait regaining her regal composure and Sirius turning around to face the current headmaster. 

            “As interesting Lily’s and James’ private life is, there are other things to discuss.” Dumbledore said, looking meaningfully at the portrait and taking his place behind his desk. Artemesia gave Sirius a dramatic wink and promptly fell asleep.

            After tea was offered and declined, the headmaster began what he intended to discuss.

            “I have asked you before to continue the proprietorship of your uncle’s shop because its location in Knockturn Alley seemed ideal in gathering information on Voldemort’s supporters. I must ask you now to do a bigger task.”  Dumbledore said gravely.

            “We have a spy who is trying to get into Voldemort’s inner circle. Given the dangers of that position, the passing of the information that she has gathered has become difficult because of the necessity of keeping up her cover. Before, the passing of information to her supervisor was enough, since the supervisor could inform me of such. But now, the movements of everybody are being closely watched, particularly that of her supervisor, so we must turn to other means of communication.”

            “I took into consideration your skill in practical defense, as such. More importantly, it wouldn’t be suspicious if she goes into a shop in Knockturn Alley, especially if the said shop claims to sell dark artifacts.” 

            The younger man bobbed his head. “I see.”

            “However, once in a while I may ask you to meet with our contact outside of the shop.”  Dumbledore stared at him over steepled fingers. “I know that this is asking much of you, and it will place your life in danger.”

            Sirius shook his head. “No problem. If it has to be done, it will be done.”

            Dumbledore gave him a faint smile.

            “Your contact will call you with a spell and you will apparate to its source. You will then act as courier between her and me.”

            Dumbledore then proceeded to show him what the spell will look like.

            “A’right.”  Sirius began. “But what would be the sign for me to identify this spy.”

            “She will show you a sign, and you will show her the same sign in return. This sign, a sign of the phoenix.”  Dumbledore said and whirled his wand in the air. 

            A wisp of smoke emerged from the tip, seemed to solidify and form a stylized image of a phoenix.  Sirius committed the image to memory, then he watched the smoky form disappear and ruminated on this task that was given to him.


	6. Chapter 5

            They were in the later half of their teenage years and all grown up. (Although Remus would have debated that that description didn’t really apply to him). Yet there were habits started in their first year that seem to have a longer life span than most.

            That was why, despite the growing dark and the crisp wind, Sirius was standing outdoors staring into a toasty living room wishing he had his far warmer muggle leather jacket instead of his wizarding coat on.

            He was checking up on Peter, making sure he arrived safely. It was something he, James and Remus did: letting Peter disapparate first just to make sure that there were no straggling body parts, having Peter transfigure first to keep him safe during the werewolf transformations, shoving Peter through the portrait hole first before they all scrambled in after him. There was a long history behind what he was doing.

            But after what happened in Alley Square, James would most likely be spending a few more hours in the Evans’ home, to dote on Lily and to double check the protection wards she set up; as if Lily, auror-in-training, wasn't skilled enough to do so competently. A small smile found its way to his lips. Funny, the things that love makes his friend do. 

            And Remus, having been affected by the spell, was in no condition to stand in the cold night to peer into Peter’s house. So that left only Sirius.

            It would have been easier to do if Peter had a more welcoming family, Sirius mused. Just pop your head into the fire, say hi and wait for Peter to say hi back. There was no need for this standing in the cold, looking up once in a while at the cloudy sky, and silently threatening all the powers that be not to make it rain.

            Peter's father made their already complicated lives a little bit more complicated.

            They had first suspected it when Peter returned for their second year with a few bad bruises.  Peter had insisted that it was from the rough and tumble games he played with his neighbors. The story was hardly consistent with what they knew of Peter's mother since the woman in the station who mollycoddled the boy didn't seem like a mother who would allow her son to spend his summer with horseplay. Then there were the Christmas Holidays that Peter refused to spend at home.

            By their third year, they had taken turns spending summer break at each others’ houses. Sirius had begged off for the obvious reasons; from what the rest of the Marauders had seen of the Black family, they weren't excited to spend time in 12 Grimmauld Place. But when it was time for them to stay at Peter's place, he had simply said, _it's bad at home._ He didn't elaborate. They didn't press. It was the closest Peter had come to acknowledging the abuse.

            When they had graduated, he had asked Peter if he wanted to board with him. Peter refused, saying that he didn't want to leave his mum alone in that house.

            Yet tonight seemed like a good night. Sirius could not see anything chaotic happening in the Pettigrew household. Mr. Pettigrew was probably still out, somewhere, maybe on late night Ministry business or more likely a late night drink with a couple of svelte blondes.

            Peering inside, he saw Mrs. Pettigrew, with her short, pudgy stature and tight blond curls, lying in an overstuffed armchair looking like a five year old. Then he saw Peter emerge from upstairs. He watched as Peter wrapped a blanket around his mother and pressed a kiss on her forehead. Sirius' hand stopped in mid-tap in front of the window pane; it was so rare for Peter to have a quiet moment with his mum and he couldn't bring himself to interrupt that.

            He felt a flash of something run through him, and if he were honest with himself, he would have recognized it as longing, but he did not acknowledge the feeling. He missed the sense of family, even if he didn't have much of it before he was disowned. It wasn't his family, in particular, but his idea of what a family should be like; how James' and Remus' families were like.

            He had been disowned, ages ago. They had let him go, let him leave that house without so much as a note telling him to come home and talk it over. 

            He should let it go. _This_ was his family now- Moony, Wormtail and Prongs.

            Peter was as safe as he could be, since they couldn't really protect their little friend from a danger that he didn't outright admit.

            With a last, lingering look on a mother and son who mutually loved each other, he turned around and vanished with a crack.

***

 

            "Sirius, come in." Mr. Lupin greeted warmly as he gave their visitor a polite handshake and led him into the entrance hall. 

            "Who is that, John? Oh," Mrs. Lupin peered around the doorway to his left. She had a wand in one hand, a dish in the other, and soapsuds clinging to her sleeve. "I'll give you a hug, but..." she raised her full hands by means of apology.

            "Oh, it's quite all right, Mrs. Lupin. Remus would never let me live it down." Sirius gave her smile and a wink. She shook her head at his antics and excused herself to finish cleaning the dishes.

            "You just missed him, Sirius." Mr. Lupin said, leading him into the living room. 

            "He went out?" That surprised him. Remus hadn't mentioned anything about going out tonight.  And it was quite unlike him to do so, considering what happened that afternoon.

            Mr. Lupin nodded, studying Sirius, a curious expression on his face. "Remus said you, Peter and James were going out for the night. I tried to dissuade him, after what happened in Alley Square, but he said you have been planning it for some time now. Is there-"

            "-No, sir." Sirius interrupted him. 

_Remus, what the hell are you pulling._  

            Mr. Lupin was still looking expectantly at him. It reminded him of the patented look McGonagall reserved just for them. No wonder that of the four of them, Remus was the Marauder who could always fib his way through her; apparently he had a lot of practice at home. 

            "We did plan to go out." Sirius said slowly, buying time to think up an excuse. "I was supposed to pass by for him, but I got tied up so I wasn't sure if he went ahead or if he waited for me. I guess we'll just meet up there."

            He felt bad for lying blatantly to Mr. Lupin, but Remus must have a reason, sensible bloke that he is. After a few more spur of the moment fibs, Sirius found himself outside of the Lupin household without a clue as to how to find Remus. 

            Sirius pondered for a moment if he should go and look for Remus, then decided against it.  Remus apparently, did not want them or his parents to know where he was going. If that were the case, Sirius felt that it was a waste of his own time and energy to traipse around the entire of England just to look for someone who's old enough to look after himself. Sirius grinned and mentally added- _and have fun in the process._


	7. Chapter 6

            Dorcas tried to ignore the incessant tapping of the owl’s beak on her desk, but the gorgeous, snowy bird acted as if she owned the world, and these mere mortals were under her beck and call.

            Giving a huff and an apologetic look to Gus, she hurried to her desk and attended to the owl. She untied the note and pocketed it; then tossed the owl a few treats she kept in her drawer and watched it rise in a lazy circle and fly out of the Department of Mysteries.

            She had seen the imperial seal on the note and she had no plans of opening it here, under the annoyed sight of her boss and the curious ones of the civilians.

_Go figure Regulus Black owns a haughty owl._

            Instead, she returned immediately to the task at hand, spurred by the impatient _tsk, tsk_ of Gustav.  She had been assisting him in recording a prophecy into one of the Keepsake Glasses, the small, glass balls that held the record of a prophetic image.

            It was quite different from using a pensieve. Memories are bulky, slippery substances so pensieves are designed to be extremely strong containers with size modification charms, reinforced by runic spells.

            Prophetic records, on the other hand, are merely that- records; they are duplicates of the actual memory.  Being duplicates, they are wispy, compressible and they easily evaporate. Also, one cannot enter a record the way one can enter a memory held in a pensieve.

 

            There was a man and a woman reporting the prophesy, both having been in the room with the seer at the time. The seer was the woman’s brother, and he had prophesied the arrival of the couple’s baby. The couple was ecstatic, and wanted to record it for posterity sake, and had giddily shared that they were going to name the still unborn child, Fate.

            While Dorcas cleaned and prepared the Keepsake Glasses to be used, Gus requested the woman to take a seat and relax. After having her perform some breathing exercises, he asked her to close her eyes and count to ten. 

            “...eight...nine...ten.”

            Dorcas knew that the counting didn’t have any bearing on the spell, it only served to relax the witness.

            “I vant you to think ov the prophezy.” Gus instructed then touched his wand to her forehead.  _“Scribere Occulus_ ,” he shouted forcefully.

            The skin where the wand’s point connected glowed softly for half a minute, then the light died.

            Gus then touched his wand to a Keepsake Glass. Smoke slowly suffused the glass ball. Once it was filled, the smoke seemed to emit bright light and the glass orb became warm. Gus handed it to Dorcas, who then labeled the prophesy with the date, the names of the seer and the witness and a brief description of the prophecy.

            Gus repeated the procedure on the husband.

            Once they were done, the Keeper of Prophecies led the couple, the seer and Dorcas towards the vault were they kept the records. 

            It was a vast room, cold and dark, filled with shelves that held row after row of glass orbs. Each of the rows was labeled with numbers, illuminated by the torches located on intervals on the shelves.

            At the back of the room, Gustav placed the two glass balls on an empty shelf. Then Gus muttered an incomprehensible spell, which was supposed to prevent anyone else, aside from the person the prophecy was about, from retrieving the record.

 

            As they walked out of the vault, the three visitors pointed at various times at different shelves and whispered among themselves.

            “...You reckon that’s Cassandra Trelawney’s prediction of Grindewald’s rise to power? It says C.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D., you know, Dumbledore...”

            “... Oh that could just be Carter Took telling Algernon Doltray about the Canons losing again.  Remember that, all over The Quibbler...”

            “...Not much of a prediction, then...”

            “...Surely that M. to N., is Merlin blabbing to Niniane about Arthur?...”

 

            _Or it could be Moris telling Northam that Justin Blaine wanted to leave the Night Owls which, caused the downfall of the world famous band, popular in mum and dad’s time._

            It had amused Dorcas when she first learned how mundane some of these prophesies were, as some really did record Quidditch predictions and celebrity gossip. The Department never turned away any of these prophesies, no matter how idiotic they were, because they were useful in the studies conducted by the Time Division of the Department.

            After the couple and the seer left- with a hearty, advanced congratulations from her and a curt nod from Gus- Dorcas returned to her desk and occupied herself for half an hour with paperwork. When she was certain that Gus was no longer checking in on her, she slipped out the note from her pocket and broke the elegant seal of the Black Family.

            She quickly skimmed the note, then dropped it into an empty drawer in her desk. She looked up and found Gus deeply engaged in a musty old tome.

            “ _Incendio,_ ” she whispered, and watched the note turn to ashes.

* * *

        

            She left the Prophesy Division fifteen minutes early, glad that Gus didn’t notice. Regulus had invited her to lunch and she didn’t want to be late but she still needed to report to Tutela. 

            She gave Tutela an abbreviated version of what happened at the Rally, focusing on her role in the escape of Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and the two Black cousins. Everything else that happened in the rally, she was sure Tutela knew already since she spotted Benjy and Jillian in the crowd. Aside from them, she was certain there were other Incolumitas Unspeakables- the ones that she did not know of- in attendance. 

            Because the Division operated on a need to know basis, the only Division members that she knew of were the ones that she had worked with in the past.

            She also reported on her lunch with Regulus and her intention to use it as an opportunity to insinuate further the desire to be recruited into Voldemort's Inner Circle.

* * *

 

            Regulus note said to meet him in _Beau Bouche_ , an expensive wizarding restaurant that served French cuisine. She knew that eating in _Beau Bouche_ meant fine dining and was acutely aware, even before she stepped into the restaurant that she was underdressed.

            The restaurant was a crush of swirling silks, rich velvets, elegant walking seats, deep cushy seats and marble tabletops. The patrons were dressed as if they were going to attend a ball and not just having lunch. All of them had the air of old money and old blood on them, and Dorcas highly doubted that any of them actually worked for a living. She was willing to bet a month’s salary that none of them were up before eleven.

            So engrossed they were in their own affairs that, much to Dorcas’ relief, they only gave her barely up to standards robe a passing glance.

            Even if the Meadowes were an old Wizarding family, they weren't exceptionally wealthy and lived an average, middle class existence. Her father once told her that one of their ancestors in the 13th century had squandered most of the family wealth in the brothels in Venice.

            Dorcas and Darcy's inheritance, acquired because of their parents' untimely deaths, was significant enough for single women with a few needs to live off for a number of years, if they chose to, but their parents had insisted on teaching them the value of work, not merely as a source of income but for personal growth.

            She found Regulus, seated at an intimate table near the back, looking extremely bored and- she stopped and tried to give an appropriate description- _feral_. Unconsciously, she tapped the pocket of her robe for her wand. Up her left sleeve, she had a second one strapped to her forearm.

            “Ms. Meadowes.” Regulus stood up, smoothing his dark green robes of some expensive cloth she didn’t have the background to identify and planted a kiss on her hand.

            “Please, Dorcas.” She said pleasantly, although the kiss raised her hackles. The whole place did.

            He pulled her chair out for her and waited patiently for her to be seated. Once they were settled, he repeated, “Dorcas. You must call me Regulus.” 

            Then he gave her a charming smile and brushed his dark hair from his blue eyes. “Didn’t you have a nickname in school? Or is it so unsophisticated to use one?”

            She hesitated for a moment, not really wanting to impart something this personal, but knew that he would find out anyway. She just didn’t expect him to assume such intimacies with her. “It’s Cassie.” 

            “Cassie.  How... quaint. I would have imagined a more elegant name for such a breathtaking witch, but somehow, it suits you.” He repeated it several times, letting the letters roll off his tongue. 

            Dorcas felt a tightening in her gut and wondered if there was some spell that could be cast this way. 

            His eyes, which were a light blue color, sought hers. “I regret not knowing that, not knowing _you_ _more intimately_ in Hogwarts.”

            She fought the urge to break eye contact. “There were a lot of friendships in Hogwarts that I regret not making,” she said. _There,_ she dropped the hint with much the same level of subtlety a Hungarian Horntail has.

            He gave her a broad smile. Apparently what she said gained his approval.

            “The correct ties are very important these days.”

            “I certainly agree. I work for the Ministry, and I can see where these Ministry fools are taking these laws. These mudbloods are everywhere these days.” She felt like cringing. _Mum and Dad must be turning over in their graves._

            Regulus' smile got broader. He took out a cigarette, offered her one- which she declined- and lit his own. He leaned a little further back, draped his arm on the crushed velvet covered backrest of the seat and let out a few perfectly formed smoke rings. He gave Dorcas the impression of having practiced the pose and the skill with the cigarettes in private, a small personal achievement.

            After a few exhales, he continued. "I am happy that you share my opinion. It’s rare to find _a woman_ who shares my ideals.”

            Dorcas was glad that that particular line of talk was prevented by the need to place their orders, and later by the arrival of the food. Instead, they made small talk about the people they went to Hogwarts with. 

            Dorcas recalled that Regulus was close to Stephen Manning and Blythe Craw. Stephen, if she remembered correctly, was a couple of years ahead of them and played beater on the Slytherin team.  Blythe was in their year, a Slytherin and very pretty. Regulus told her that Stephen was playing quidditch professionally and Blythe he saw here and there during parties.

Once their plates were cleared and aromatic coffee was served on dainty demitasses, Regulus leaned towards her ear and lowered his voice.

            “I believe we were talking about appropriate friendships. What you did, during the Rally, that was a very important extension of your friendship. One that is valued highly by.... _the right people._ ”

            She was going to get invited to Voldemort’s group, the insinuation was so palpable, she could almost touch it.  And who are the right people?” She asked coolly. 

            It was like dangling a toy in front of a cat; if kept just out of reach, it made the cat try harder.

            “People born with the birthright to in _this group_. The only group to belong to.” He leaned closer, his breath grazing her ear and looked at her meaningfully. This time, Dorcas resisted the urge to squirm.     

            “You belong to _this group_?”

            “Yes, and so could you.” He gave her a small smile. “Usually, it takes longer to get in, but that act in the Rally has sparked some interest in the higher ups. But you still have to prove yourself worthy of the group.”

            “Do I?” Dorcas fixed herself in an expression of boredom, as if she was only slightly interested.

            Regulus extracted a letter from his robes and placed it on the table between them. She studied the seal, recognizing the Malfoy family crest. She moved her hand to pick it up, but was prevented by Regulus’ hand clasping hers. 

            “Don’t open it here. Do it later, in your home. I’ll owl you, when we will next meet.”

            Then he stroked the back of her hand a bit before letting it go. She quickly pocketed the note then kept her hands on her lap.

            Regulus paid for their lunch and led her towards the door. Before leaving, he turned towards her, keeping his mouth close to her ear. She didn’t really know him and here he was, acting fresh with her and invading her personal space. Had this not been so important, she would have hexed him to kingdom come.

            “I had a fantastic time.” He whispered. “I can’t wait to see you again, _to get closer_.”

            She gave a nod and tried to rearrange her face into some semblance of a smile. Once the requisite time for leave-taking was fulfilled, she disapparated as quickly as possible.

* * *

 

            She was surprised by Regulus’ actions. 

            In Hogwarts, he had been a Black, through and through. Everything one would associate with the Black family- name dropping, bragging about expensive things, pulling off the occasional prank, knowing quite a lot of dark spells- Regulus did. He did all that in public, in the common areas. But there had always been a bit of timidity in him, as if despite being a Black, he was a little unsure of himself.                          Back in the Slytherin common room, Regulus was different. This timidity was more obvious. He had always hung on Bellatrix and Lucius’ instructions. When the two left in their second year, she remembered Regulus floundering for a few weeks before he joined a new clique. Even in Regulus’ choice of friends, Stephen Manning and Blythe Craw- both of whom were extremely popular- he was the follower, the one who wasn’t noticed.

            In fact, he had always flown below the radar, and it seemed that when anybody in school talked about the Black boy, they were always referring to his older brother. 

            It was only around two years out of Hogwarts, but the Regulus she had lunch with was different.  He was arrogant, annoying and presumptuous, as if somebody had been drilling into his head that he owned everything and everyone. Dorcas had a pretty good guess as to who those somebodies were. She could see how attractive to him the promise of superiority was. And it was a superiority that he could get by simply being a Black. There was no need for practicing to be better in quidditch or studying to get higher grades. Or whatever the equivalent of those achievements were in the real world.

            But there was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she couldn’t place. It was as if she had seen before the persona that Regulus was presenting but she just couldn’t figure out where.

* * *

         She returned to work, assisted with another prophecy record, updated their books and transcribed and cross referenced the topics Gus requested. Then at closing, she exited the Department of Mysteries doubled back through the circular room, and headed to the Incolumitas Division. 

            She spent an hour, training with Benjy. It was a relatively relaxed session because once she got the hang of the movements, it was a matter of practicing and polishing. So they spent most of it talking about the rally the day before.

            At the end of her training session (if she could deign to call it that), she visited Jillian Carson and thanked her profusely for her help during the rally. 

            “Honey, that was nothing.” Jillian shrugged. There were a dozen books, quills and ink pots on her desk. Each of the quills was moving by magic, duplicating texts from the books. Jillian’s job in the Incolumitas Division involves researching the spells and artifacts used by the wizards their monitoring.

            "Jill, how did you find out about the street?”

            Jillian gave a hearty laugh. The quills stopped and tittered for a moment before continuing.  “That’s one of the advantages of dating a Prewett.”

            Dorcas smiled inwardly and studied the books on Jillian’s table. Some were written in Egyptian and Greek. “Is this research for the Black's spell yesterday?"

            Jillian let out a gust of breath, put down her quill and rubbed her eyes. The other quills stood still for a moment then fluttered on top of the books. "I swear, they get inventive as the years go by. Remember that notorious muggle baiting hex they invented a couple of years ago?"

            Dorcas cast around her mind for the right memory since there had been a rash of muggle baiting incidents particularly two or three years back when the pureblood cause changed modus operandi from small gatherings to large public rallies. Some of the Wizarding public, given their biases, had initially found it amusing rather than troubling but the Ministry had difficulty controlling the outbreak. Jillian, Dorcas recalled, had been in a lot of pressure to think up of counter jinxes and reversals and the Incolumitas Division had worked overtime gathering evidence on the culprits which they handed over to the Aurors. The Aurors, of course never knew that the evidence that mysteriously turned up in Auror HQ came from them and thought that one of the culprits grew a conscience and tattled. 

            "Is this the one Magic Reversal had hell with? The one with the doorknobs?" Dorcas asked. One of the more troublesome of the hexes, which had been dubbed in the Division as the "Flooing Knob Hex", involved lacing the hands of the muggle with modified Floo powder. When the muggle goes home and tries to open his door, he gets transported back to where he came from, like the office or a pub.

            "Uhuh. Spell diagnostics of that one showed that the Floo powder was enchanted with a set of spells, all legal. When they were taken together they produce that particular effect. But they were all based on basic things. The spells nothing above O.W.L. level and Floo powder can be bought by anybody. The person who thought of that did it for some perverse amusement; somebody brilliant but with a cruel sense of humor. _But Black's sodding spell,_ that's just something else." Jillian explained.

            "Cassie, this, you're cleared to hear. Black's spell, that's based on an ancient curse, really dark magic- incantation's _Immunda Letum._ Seriously maims muggle borns and anybody with muggle ancestry five generations back." Jillian ranted. "The one she did was a somewhat mild version but honey, I threw up a _really expensive lunch_ few times before I was able to get out of there."

            "They're bloody escalating." Dorcas responded.

            "Exactly. Voldemort is moving up from having his cohorts do _kiddie spells-_ " she used her fingers to quote the words- "to really dangerous ones. And it's harder to research now, even with the level of access I have. And it's not like they offer Dark and Ancient Spells as part of the Hogawarts curriculum."  Jillian rolled her eyes. "Knowing his ancestry, Voldemort must have been studying it from _somewhere._ "

            Dorcas gave a hollow laugh. "Great, great, great, something grandfather Slytherin must have left him crib sheets."

            Jillian sighed. "And he's sharing with his friends."

            Madame Tutela’s office was the last stop for the day. She kept her report about lunch and the Malfoy invite coolly professional.

            But once she got home, the first thing she did was take a shower, hoping to erase what Jillian shared and her memories of Regulus Black's assuming hand positions during lunch.


End file.
